


Let's Start With An Argument

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lynch brothers mentioned, M/M, Noah mentioned, everyone needs to be hugged and also to cry a little bit, one day i will write fics that aren't just pynch, post everything fucking up, pre TRK epilogue, the gangsey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: “Ok,” Ronan says, near half an hour after they’d gotten back, after they’d shifted from the kitchen, lost Opal, and slumped down together on the couch in the front room. “What’s up?”Ronan has a knack for saying stupid things. Usually they’re on purpose, some sort of game of winding people up, or getting out of doing shit. Adam stares at him until he’s certain this time it is just stupidity.“What’s up?” he repeats back to Ronan, and Ronan raises his eyebrows.“Yeah,” he says, “you were doing your thousand mile stare thing through the wall, I thought it was best to get you out of there before you burned a hole through it. So, what’s up?”“How the fuck,” Adam says calmly, “are you seriously asking me what’s up?”((Pre TRK epilogue) Sorting shit out. )





	Let's Start With An Argument

It’s a little bit odd that it’s only been two weeks since everything went to hell and then fought its way, tooth and claw, back onto the surface. A little bit odd that when Adam closes his eyes Gansey is still dead, and Blue is still bleeding, and Ronan is still dying, and Adam’s hands still don’t belong to him. A little bit odd that when he opens his eyes, none of this is true but Noah is gone and gone and gone, and - - - . 

 

A little bit odd because it’s only been two weeks since this all happened, and no one in their right mind ought to be letting any of them pretend life is normal and fine, and yet, they’re all back at school, and carrying on, and acting, not normal, but  _ like _ maybe they could be normal. 

 

Well. Except for Ronan, because he only went back to school once, and that was to tell Principal Childs to his face that he was leaving. 

 

It’s odd. Not odd. Horrifying. Because here they all are, doing their shitting maths homework in Monmouth. Henry is here with them now, like he’s filling a void of a ghost he never met, and Blue’s eye is still under an eye patch because her scratch got infected, and Ronan’s throat is still mottled purple. And no one is talking about it. 

 

Well.

Probably because they have talked about it. Talked it to several deaths. But it doesn’t feel right that they could have talked it all out already, that they could have run out of things they need to clear up, to comprehend, to comfort each other over. In fact, he knows they haven’t. Because he hasn’t yet. He still has questions he needs to ask. He still needs to be comforted. 

 

Probably, it’s too painful right now. Probably, he’s asking, not asking, wanting too much while things are still so fresh. 

 

Sitting here on the floor though, in a semi circle made up out of Gansey and Henry (Ronan and Blue slumped on the couch), maths spread out and pen in hand, it’s too overwhelming to not think about. He can’t concentrate on his homework. He can’t concentrate and the mindless conversation happening around him. He can’t pretend he’s happy to be back doing his homework and moving forwards even though he  _ know, knows, knows  _ that that is what he needs to be doing, has to be doing. 

 

He should go back to his flat so he doesn’t have to be surrounded by all these unanswered questions. But. He can’t bear the thought of leaving. 

 

This is where Ronan stands up, loudly, because this is Ronan, and says; “Ok losers, I’m going back to the Barns, and I’m taking Parrish. Objections?” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey says, “I thought you were staying for dinner?” 

 

“Yes,” Blue says from behind Ronan, “you can’t just monopolise Adam’s attention all the time.

 

“I can,” Ronan says, “watch me.” 

 

“We need Parrish for calculus!” Henry objects, “He’s our answer book!” 

 

“I don’t object,” Adam says, “but I’m taking you. Chuck me the keys.” 

 

He shuts his math book. Henry groans mournfully. 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan replies, fishes his keys out of his jeans pocket and chucks them in Adam’s general direction. “I’m just gonna get some shit from my room and we can go.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, catching the keys before they can smash into his face. He stuffs them into the pocket of his hoodie, and sets to packing up his books while Henry continues making sad and despairing maths noises beside him. 

 

“We’ll see you tomorrow, though?” Gansey asks him. He’s staring at his maths book, but in a way that it’s obvious he’s not really seeing it. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says, “we have school, Gans.” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey says, frowns hard in the direction of the book, “I mean -” 

 

“We’re not running away,” Adam says, drops his voice down low. “You know we’re always coming back.” 

 

Saying this tinges the tips of his ears red, but smooths out Gansey’s face, so his burst of embarrassment at being so earnest is worth it. 

 

“Someone break out the candles,” Henry croons, “we got our local hot boys getting romantic here.” 

 

“Fuck off, Cheng!” Ronan calls from his bedroom. 

 

Now Gansey’s cheeks are also tinged pink. 

 

-

 

The drive to the Barns is blessedly quiet. Well. The car is full of the sound of Ronan’s music, but it’s quiet in the fact that no one is saying normal things and expecting normal answers. The chaos of the drums surrounding him is just the right amount of normal and completely wacky. In fact, Ronan doesn’t bother with the speaking thing at all, until they’re in the kitchen, shoes off, jackets hung up. 

 

“Wanna coffee?” He asks while Adam folds himself down at the table, “I need one.” 

 

“Sure,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan makes coffee. They drink the coffee. It’s still mostly silent. This time the silence is not actually silence because of Opal coming in and attempting to steal Ronan’s coffee. 

 

-

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, near half an hour after they’d gotten back, after they’d shifted from the kitchen, lost Opal, and slumped down together on the couch in the front room. “What’s up?” 

 

Ronan has a knack for saying stupid things. Usually they’re on purpose, some sort of game of winding people up, or getting out of doing shit. Adam stares at him until he’s certain this time it is just stupidity. 

 

“What’s up?” he repeats back to Ronan, and Ronan raises his eyebrows. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, “you were doing your thousand mile stare thing through the wall, I thought it was best to get you out of there before you burned a hole through it. So, what’s up?” 

 

“How the fuck,” Adam says calmly, “are you seriously asking me what’s up?” 

 

Ronan rolls his fucking eyes. Adam almost wishes he’d agreed with Henry and stayed behind to do maths. 

 

“Because unlike some people,” Ronan bites out, “I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know what’s fucking you up right now, so I need you to tell me” 

 

“Do you all have amnesia?” Adam blurts out, “Is that what this is? You’ve all just forgotten somehow that we’ve just lived and died and lived through some of the… the fucking worst shit and now we’re just… getting pizza. Doing homework. Talking about school drama. What the fuck do you even  _ mean _ by ‘what’s up’?” 

 

Ronan stares at him. Adam could punch something. 

 

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam could punch something. 

 

“I don’t,” he snaps, “but I can’t not talk about it either.” 

 

“You haven’t -” Ronan begins, “-we’ve talked about this as a group. You’ve not brought it up with just the two of us before. I didn’t think-” 

  
  


“I’ve tried,” Adam interjects, “I tried. All the fucking time. You kept deflecting. With kissing. Or food. Or driving. And I don’t fucking care, I like that shit, but I don’t - I feel like I’m the only one falling apart right now.” 

 

“Are you falling apart?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam feels like maybe he could punch something if he didn’t feel like just the thought of violence in his hands would cause his limbs to malfunction, to break off. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he says, voice hard, “how could I not be?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “what do you want to talk about then?” 

 

Absolutely nothing. Maybe it would be better if Ronan did the thing where he steps into Adam’s space and interrupts the flow of conversation by pressing his mouth to Adam’s, his fingertips to his spine. All of that touching is still so new and shocking that it does always bring Adam to an abrupt distracted halt. 

 

“Can we talk about the fact that - that we - that you almost died?” 

 

“I didn’t, though,” Ronan points out. 

 

“You almost did,” Adam says, harsh, “more than once.” 

 

“What is there to talk about?” Ronan says, “I’m not trying to be fucking shitty here, Parrish, I just mean that there isn’t really much to say. I almost died. I didn’t. It fucking sucked ass. The end.” 

 

“I want to know,” Adam says, “I want to know if you’re okay.” 

 

Ronan stares at him. Stares at him. 

 

“Of fucking course I’m not ok,” he snorts. 

 

Now Adam stares. 

 

“Why didn’t you say?” Adam asks. 

 

“Because it’s fucking obvious,” Ronan snaps, “none of us are ok, Adam, you’re not special for feeling fucked up after all that.”

 

“Fuck you,” Adam snaps, hurt and surprise pinching uncomfortably at the base of his spine. He shoves himself further back on the couch, away from Ronan. “I’m not-” 

 

“I know,” Ronan interjects, “I’m just saying we’re all in the same fucking boat, none of us are ok.” 

 

“So why is it so shitty of me, then,” Adam says, “to want to fucking talk about not being ok, with my boyfriend?”

 

He knows it’s a gamble just dropping the fucking ‘b’ word in here, when they haven’t discussed it, when it’s so new. But it is what it is, may as well call a fucking rose a rose. 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, eyebrows high, “I’m your boyfriend now, huh?” 

 

“You didn’t kiss me just to be fuck buddies,” Adam snaps, “and I sure as hell haven’t been kissing you back for that. Don’t be an asshole.” 

 

“Pretty sure you have to be fucking to be fuck buddies,” Ronan points out. 

 

He is insufferable. 

 

“Whatever the fuck we are, then,” Adam says, hears his own voice grinding, “I think we need to be able to fucking tell each other when we’re having a shit time. I don’t fucking like talking about this anymore than you do, but I mean, I tried to kill you, I think that might be kinda useful to talk about.” 

 

He swipes aggressively at his stinging eyes, knows the tears pricking there are of anger and frustration, and he doesn’t want to be comforted over them right now. He doesn’t need to fucking cry right now he needs Ronan to stop being a shit hole and just  _ talk _ to him. 

 

“That wasn’t you,” Ronan says, which has been the base line from everyone on this subject since it had happened, and Adam is sick to death with it. 

 

“I know,” he says, “it was the demon, Adam, you can’t blame yourself, Adam, blah fucking blah. That’s not the fucking point.” 

 

“What is the point then?” Ronan asks, and now his voice is rising slightly to meet Adam’s. 

 

“The point,” Adam says, “is that, sure, I didn’t tell my hands to do that, but they were still my hands. I still had to be present for that, you still had to be present for that. You can’t just tell me that doesn’t fuck you up a bit.” 

 

“I still let you touch me, don’t I?” Ronan shrugs, “Obviously I’m not as bothered as you think I am.” 

 

“You  _ let _ me?” Adam snaps, “Is this what that is?” 

 

“God’s sake, Parrish,” Ronan snaps, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, “tell me about your emotions then.” 

 

Adam stares at him. Then stares at him a little more. Then shakes his head. 

 

“Nah,” he says, is fire-spittingly-angry that the tears blocking his throat is not just frustration and anger now. “Nah, I wanted to talk  _ with _ you. With my fucking boyfriend, because I’m scared, and I want comfort and I wanted to feel like I could be fucking open with you and clear with you, but nah. Not like this. I’m just gonna - you stay here not needing to talk about shit. I’m gonna take a walk.” 

 

He ought to give Ronan time to respond. He ought to stop and cool down in the kitchen. He ought to be less angry. Instead, he storms his way out to the door, shoves his feet into the nearest gumboots, and takes off into the steadily darkening expanse of mud awaiting him. 

 

-

 

He waits until the house is a smudge behind trees and bumps and dark, and then he lets himself sit down at the trunk of the nearest tree and cry. What the fuck else is he supposed to do if none of his friends can see he needs someone to cry on, or if, all his friends think he’s gonna do all his crying on his  _ boyfriend _ but his so-called boyfriend just wants to avoid the subject and be all sarcastic around it. What the fuck else is he supposed to do. 

 

Maybe he’s supposed to just go home. Just go home and cry it out in his shitty apartment by his shitty self, and then do what everyone else is apparently doing and not think about it, and not talk about it, and just not. 

Move forwards.

 

But. 

 

How the fuck. 

Is he supposed to move the fuck forwards when he still hasn’t got to take Ronan’s fucking dumb hands in his and apologise for fucking strangling him? He can’t take anymore brush offs. He needs actual forgiveness for it. As stupid as that sounds, as stupid as that makes him feel, but he had thought. He had thought that Ronan would understand the need to be forgiven even if it wasn’t technically your fault.

 

He knows he is asking for too much in such a new and fragile thing. 

 

-

 

When he gets back inside, his skin feels hard with chill, and he can’t quite get his teeth to sit still in his mouth, but the fire in his head and his throat and his knuckles has abated with the remainder of the light in the sky. It’s late enough now that Ronan might have just gone the fuck to bed, to dream, to sulk, to whatever. Late enough now that his stomach is reminding him he hasn’t had dinner. Late enough that he is not expecting Ronan to be exactly where he left him sitting on the couch. 

 

-

 

“Ronan,” he says into the silence. 

 

Ronan doesn’t answer immediately, and, because his head is bent at an awkward angle against the side of the couch, Adam thinks maybe he’s asleep. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, plans on saying this while Ronan’s awake too, but thinks that he might need to practice it. 

 

“I am too,” Ronan says, voice rough. He doesn’t move at all, but Adam jumps a little. 

 

“Fuck,” Adam exhales, then crosses the room to perch tentatively on the far end of the couch. “I’m sorry,” Adam says again, doesn’t know where to go from there.

 

“I didn’t mean to - to drive you off with sarcasm,” Ronan says lowly. He sounds dreadful. “I know I’m avoiding the subject. I know that’s not...healthy or whatever the fuck. I’m sorry.” 

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam whispers, leans against the cushions of the couch so he doesn’t have to hold himself upright anymore. 

 

“Talk,” Ronan suggests, “and I’ll listen.” 

 

It’s almost close enough. 

 

“I want that,” Adam says, “but I want - I want this to be give and take. I can’t - I need us to both talk and both listen.” 

 

“If I talk about this right now,” Ronan says, “I don’t know - Adam - if I talk about this I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be ok.” 

 

“Why?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan makes a stilted noise, shrugs expansively. He’s still pressed up against the couch with his back to Adam, so Adam can’t see what his face is doing, but he can guess, and he doesn’t like it. 

 

“Ok,” Adam mumbles, shuffles forwards across the couch cushions until he can press his hand lightly against Ronan’s back, “we won’t - we don’t have to talk about this shit yet. Ok? But we do need to. Eventually. We need to. I need to.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, exhales loudly, his back pushing against Adam’s hand. “Your hand is fucking freezing.” 

 

“It’s cold outside,” Adam says, shifts forwards so he can replace his hand with his chest, presses his forehead against Ronan’s nape. “And I’m an idiot.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, reaches around himself to clutch at  Adam’s shirt. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.” 

 

“I shouldn’t have just left in the first place,” Adam admits. 

 

“And,” Ronan says, “I do - obviously - I’m an asshole. Of course we’re boyfriends.” 

 

Adam laughs, a little wetly, wraps his arms loose around Ronan’s torso, “I know,” he says. 

 

“Can we just-” Ronan begins, turns a little in Adam’s arms, “-eat food, then go to bed? Talk about this again tomorrow?” 

  
  


-

  
  


They don’t talk about it tomorrow. Which is fine. Because they’ve broached the subject now, because Adam doesn’t feel so much like he’s by himself, because they woke up a little late and Ronan had to drive Adam to school in a mad rush, and then they don’t see each other again until it’s them with the whole group. 

 

Of course, this is kind of how they see each other most of the time. With the whole group. It’s difficult, because Adam’s working and at school, and can’t skip either of these things, and Ronan is out of town and loathe to come near the school, and the easiest place for both of them is Monmouth where everyone else is too. If this had been BGSD (Before Gansey’s Second Death). Or, BTK (Before The Kiss), it would have been a lot easier to just grab Ronan and a moment alone, but now, everything feels too charged. 

 

The two of them breaking off from the group leaves Gansey anxious, Adam knows this. Like Gansey, for some dumbass reason seems to think that now the hunt is over, now he’s done his dying, that his court will leave him. Like Adam will decide he needs nothing more from Gansey so he doesn’t want him, or like Ronan will just drift off, or that, even Blue, will pair up with Henry and leave Gansey alone. 

 

Gansey has never been particular wise about how much he’s fucking loved.

 

So. It’s difficult to make time alone with Ronan without worrying about Gansey. 

 

The other charging factor is that everytime he and Ronan are alone in a room together and not arguing, the only thing Adam really wants to be doing is pressing himself up firmly against Ronan in an attempt to transfer all his want into someone else's body. Hard to try and talk about your feelings when your mouth is busy and the only feeling you can feel is more, more, more. 

 

All of this having been said, this doesn’t mean he has forgotten that he wants to talk about. Certainly doesn’t mean that he feels less fragmented and shaky over it. It just means that he thinks the glue holding him together can last until Ronan is ready, he hopes, he hopes, and so it’s no so scary. 

 

He expects that maybe, give Ronan another fortnight. Give Ronan time to heal over a little, and then they’ll talk about it, and it’ll be less exhausting with less emotions, or whatever. 

 

What he gets instead is a knock on his door early on Sunday morning, maybe twenty minutes after the bells had called everyone to mass. 

 

-

 

“Ronan,” Adam says. He’s opened the door, and stepped aside, but Ronan continues to lean against the wall to the side of Adam’s flat, face turned aside, looking back down the stairwell. 

 

Ronan doesn’t really reply, he just shifts one shoulder slightly. 

 

“Church isn’t finished,” Adam tries. 

 

“No,” Ronan agrees. 

 

“Do you want to come in?” Adam asks, reaches out, not quite tentatively, to touch between Ronan’s shoulder blades. 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says.  Doesn’t move. 

 

Adam exhales, steps forwards, shifting his hand up from Ronan’s back to his nap, reaching out with his other hand to catch the fabric at Ronan’s elbow, tugs gently. Ronan doesn’t move smoothly, but he does move easily. Jerkily turning at Adam’s insistence, letting himself be directed into the flat. Doesn’t speak at all until Adam’s folded him down onto his rickety desk chair and stepped in between his legs to pull Ronan’s head forwards against him. 

 

“Adam,” Ronan mumbles against Adam’s shirt, breath hot through fabric onto skin. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, because he can’t think of anything actually useful to say. 

 

“I miss her so much,” Ronan says, and it’s more of a gasp than anything really, or maybe a sob. Adam can feel the damp on his skin. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says again, because, he can’t think of anything actually fucking useful to say. 

 

“We were gonna get her out,” Ronan says, “bring her back, and now that’s never fucking happening, we’re never gonna get to - she’s never coming back this time. There’s no hope.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, grips at Ronan tighter in lieu of having anything useful to say. 

 

“It’s real this time,” Ronan says, very wet face pressing hard into the dip just below Adam’s ribs, “I’m a real fucking  _ orphan  _ now, Parrish, and it’s my own fucking fault-” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, digs his fingers in at the base of Ronan’s nape, “Lynch,” he says firmly, “it isn’t your fault-” 

 

“If I can’t say that to you,” Ronan gets out, “you can’t say it to me.” 

 

“It’s different,” Adam insists, feels awkward talking to the top of Ronan’s head, but he is definitely not going to make Ronan move, “there’s no way Aurora’s death is connected to you.” 

 

“I put her in Cabeswater,” Ronan says, “I left her there while it was being destroyed.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, “you will be the only person who will ever blame you for this.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t answer. Or he does, but it’s in muffled sobs, and Adam can’t translate it. Still understands the general meaning behind it though. 

 

“Do you want me to say things,” Adam asks, “or do you wanna just… lie down on my bed and do this?” 

 

Ronan grips tighter, so Adam bends slightly so he can get his arms around Ronan’s waist, and half lifts him from the chair. This is very decidedly the least sexy instance of pushing Ronan down onto his bed. Not that that’s a thing he ought to even be thinking about in passing right now. 

 

He drops onto his knees next to Ronan, and then unfolds himself along Ronan’s side, gathers Ronan in against his chest, tangling their legs, and capping it off by hooking his chin over the top of Ronan’s head. 

 

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but long enough that Adam’s shirt is definitely wet now, and his left arm is numb under Ronan. 

 

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this fucking happy and this fucking… fucking devastated at once,” Ronan says, breaking the silence. His head is still buried in Adam’s chest, so his voice is quiet. 

 

“Yeah?” Adam breathes, “Yeah.” 

 

“It’s not fair,” Ronan mumbles, “we didn’t even get a whole fucking day just to - to get used to  _ us _ before shit got even fucking worse.” 

 

“It isn’t fair,” Adam says, is doing his best to be comforting and sensible, but it’s getting harder when his throat feels like it’s slowly closing up on itself.

 

“I just want-” Ronan says, and it also isn’t fair that Ronan is beginning to sound more coherent and less breathless while Adam feels like his lungs are slowly crumpling up, “-to be fucking… God. Fucking happy. And I feel like I might not ever be able to do that - and - fuck. I feel fucking useless.” 

 

“Me too,” Adam says, voice catching, “I feel like there’s no - like - I don’t know how to move forwards now because it  _ hurts _ but also because I feel like we’ve already - we’ve already finished everything.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. 

 

He’s finally shifting up a little in Adam’s grip, unearthing his face from Adam’s damp shirt and levering himself onto the pillow so he’s face to face with Adam and they can see each other’s tear stained faces. Adam wants to bury his own face in the pillow. 

 

“All I can hope for,” Ronan says, hoarse, “is that time will make it easier.” 

 

“It will,” Adam says, “as dumb as it sounds. It will.” 

 

“And you’ve not finished everything,” Ronan says, clears his throat loudly, then tips his head forward until his forehead is pressed against Adam’s cheek. “You have so much fucking gross study to do, and then lives to change, and money to make. Me to kiss. Shit like that.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, thinks he’s saying Ronan’s name an awful lot today. “If I had - if you had died, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

 

“You would have moved on,” Ronan says, which is an awful fucking thing to say. 

 

“Fuck you,” Adam says, is both annoyed and embarrassed that this is what properly breaks the dam, sets him off crying. 

 

“In time,” Ronan hastens to add, tilts his head up so it’s his lips pressed to Adam’s steadily saltier cheek, “because, like we were just saying, time makes things ok. Or bearable. And you’re fucking - you have so much fucking shit to do with your life. You would have been ok.” 

 

“Stop it,” Adam says, “I don’t want to have been ok in any way if you were - if you had -” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “but I didn’t. I didn’t. I’m fucking right here, Parrish.” 

 

“You’re such a shithole,” Adam says, or attempts to say, it’s a little muffled by Ronan’s face, and his blocked throat, and snot. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, doesn’t pull away. 

 

“I love you,” Adam chokes out, “and I think I’m gonna have fucking nightmares about my hands on your throat until I fucking die.” 

 

Now Ronan pulls away a little. Just enough to get a good look at Adam’s face before he ducks back in, presses his lips to the corner of Adam’s mouth, exhales. 

 

“You won’t,” he says, says it so firmly like he already knows the fucking future, “because we’ll fucking overwrite it. We’ll make it inconsequential. We’ll turn it into something that has no fucking power.” 

 

Adam would cry at this if he wasn’t already crying. 

 

“I love you,” Adam says again, against Ronan’s mouth, “I love you.” 

 

“Idiot,” Ronan says, not very firmly at all, “I love you, too. Shut up.” 

 

“I can’t,” Adam mumbles, even while Ronan’s turning their press of lips into an actual kiss, “I need to say it or I’ll burst.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says, kisses him hard. “Say it again, then.” 

 

“I love you,” Adam says, whispers it, because now it’s being asked of him it’s suddenly a little embarrassing “I love you. I’m so fucking glad you’re still here with me.” 

 

“I love you,” Ronan replies again, mouth and words pressing up against Adam’s cheek, “even though you’re a nerd.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam says, tips his head down to kiss Ronan again, “I love you even though you’re an asshole.” 

 

“This isn’t a competition,” Ronan scoffs, “anyway, you’re an asshole, too.” 

 

“Shut up,” Adam says, then, “sorry.” 

 

“Why?” Ronan asks. 

 

“You were talking about you,” Adam says, “and I interrupted you to have...feelings.” 

 

“Talking about me involves your feelings,” Ronan grunts, “you didn’t fucking interrupt.” 

 

“I want you to be able to tell me all your shit,” Adam says, has to keep whispering to get this out. 

 

“I will then,” Ronan says, “I’ll be extra explicit when I get diarrhea.” 

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Adam snorts, “I’m serious.” 

 

“Me too,” Ronan snarks back, then presses a quick kiss to Adam’s lips. “I will,” he says, “I’ll try to. You’ve gotta talk about your shit too.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam mumbles, “I think - I don’t think I actually have - I don’t know what I wanted to talk about. I think I almost just wanted to get to - to cry with you about this.” 

 

“Well that’s fucking allowed, too,” Ronan mumbles back, “but we should plan it better next time, have refreshments to hand to hydrate ourselves afterwards.” 

 

“You’re such a dumbass,” Adam says, “I have cold coffee and water if you want some refreshments.” 

 

“Such variety,” Ronan says, wriggles in Adam’s arms a little until he can snake his hands down their bodies to grab Adam’s hand at his hip, weaves their fingers together. “Maybe we could just nap.” 

 

“I could do that,” Adam admits, thinks he can probably take a break from his fucking homework schedule to get to just unwind. “Is Declan or Matthew gonna come and bang on my door as soon as church finishes?” 

 

“Probably,” Ronan says, kisses Adam again, “I told them I was coming here.” 

 

“I guess we’re lucky they didn’t just follow you up here,” Adam says, and Ronan snorts a little. 

 

“I’m gonna get lunch with them afterwards,” he says, drops his head down to rest against Adam’s shoulder, “will you come with?” 

 

“You want me to?” Adam asks, can’t help himself from sounding a little shocked. 

 

“Everything’s already fucking changed and wacky,” Ronan says, “I might as well add you to the mix now.” 

 

“I’m not wacky,” Adam protests, feels Ronan snort again against his shoulder. 

 

“You’re like a - a fucking witch forest, nerd, workaholic,” he says, “you’re pretty wacky. Will you come?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, turns his head sideways so he can kiss Ronan’s forehead, “I’m coming.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilearden.tumblr.com


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